Ghosts and Angels
by Jane Summerville
Summary: Set at the Opera Populaire some time after the incident with Christine Daee took place. Erik is trying to overcome the pain that's been inflicted on him while fate crosses his path with that of a pretty young dancer.
1. Prologue

The Opera Populaire was bustling with activity as the dancers took the stage to practice. The soft hiss of fabric brushing the air could barely be heard as Mmlle Giry called instructions out to the girls.

"No, Brigitte! You are not an awkward stork, but a graceful young woman! Move more like Marie over there, silly girl."

Brigitte glowered sullenly at Marie who was moving as if she had been born dancing. Her long raven hair was loose for rehearsal and it swung suggestively around her slender body. Chocolate brown eyes focused on her every movement, and closed slowly as she gave herself over to the dancing.

_Little gypsy girl, why should she be Meg's favorite? _

A sigh escaped from Mmlle Giry's lips. "No, Marie, you must open your eyes. The gentlemen in the audience will want to see your big beautiful eyes while you dance."

Marie nodded once, her eyelids fluttering briefly as her eyes opened. "But, Madamoiselle Giry, I do not need to see to dance, I only need to feel."

"Please concentrate on your dancing. I care not if you know the entire stage with your eyes shut. That is commendable, but the ladies and gentlemen in the audience will want you to have your eyes open, so you will."

Brigitte's teeth grit together tightly. _She_ had never dared to question the ballet manager's wisdom. _She _always kept her eyes open, her body moving properly. Hatred welled up into her chest for the gypsy girl that everyone favored. _Little gypsy trollop, moving so suggestively. She can barely behave herself like a lady on or off the stage, why is she so favored?_

The various stage hands were coming onto the stage, moving low to the ground so that and audience would not notice them, carrying buckets of powder. The harsh chemical powders were to be dumped into the gas lighting of the stage to throw of flares of color onto the dancers. Hands pulled back buckets and went to dump as the men working the fans to create winds were idly pushing their great charge back and forth.

White clouds suddenly puffed into the dancers, girls screamed as the chemical powders covered them, getting into noses and mouths. One high pitched scream pierced all the other girl's outraged cries.

Marie sat on the floor of the stage, hands over her face, screaming in pain and horror. Meg ran to her side, pulling her hands away to see what had happened to her favorite ballerina. A gasp of horror escaped her throat as she saw the girl's eyes has been shot full of the powders. _Mon Dieu, non. Not her eyes_. "Doctor! I need the doctor over here now!"

All the Opera's doctor could do was to wash out the girl's eyes for her to stop the pain. Marie whimpered softly as she frantically looked around her. Where once the rich splendor of the Opera Populaire of Paris had been where only vague gray shapes where the larger parts of stages were. Every once in a while she could make out a smaller gray blur moving where people where.

Marie whimpered softly and looked towards a looming oval-shaped blur. "I…I can not see! What am I to do?"

Mmlle Giry smiled softly. "Well, my girl, you can at least make out shapes. Perhaps you can still dance. That is, if our managers do not cast you out into the street."

At the thought of being cast onto the street, Marie began to weep once more, head on her knees, tears running onto the fine silk of her costume. Meg gently took the young woman by the hand and led her to her dormitory room, still weeping softly.

"Do not fear, my dear. The managers are afraid of treating their dancers and singers too poorly after what happened to them when they first had this place. They still fear our Opera Ghost, even if they do not speak on him. Perhaps I can convince them to allow you to stay. After all, you are our finest dancer."

While Meg and the doctor flitted around the injured dancer, Brigitte smiled softly to herself. _Finally, I will be able to shine the way I should with that little gypsy bitch out of my way. What good luck I've had today._


	2. Misadventures in the Basement

Marie wandered around the stage, hands stretched out beside her. Her eyes had fallen closed as her fingertips brushed the different props on stage, familiarizing herself with the new set up of the stage. She smiled softly as her feet took her around the stage as if by instinct. As the circuit completed itself, she opened her eyes and gazed at the looming gray hulks on the stage. Her fingers told her what each prop was, and what was left of her vision let her know where they were. She was ready to dance.

Luck had smiled on little Marie St. Clair a week ago. The accident had left her mostly blind, but by some divine chance, had not marred her lovely visage or her eyes. While she had curled up into a ball in the dormitory, Mmlle Giry had pleaded her case to the managers of the Opera. While the two gentlemen claimed no superstitions about the Opera House, its ghost, or the events that had taken place a few years back, fear of what could happen if they mistreated a dancer kept them from throwing Marie out.

"They have said you can stay as long as you can still dance, my dear. Perhaps if you learned to sing your place would be more secure. That takes less moving around and you would be in less danger of angering them by falling or marring a performance." While she knew that Marie could not see her face, Meg had smiled gently at the girl. _Now I know why Mother took in Christine. It's so hard not to want to help such a talented young girl, especially when she has no one else._

The rest of the corps de ballet stayed to one side, allowing Marie to acclimate herself to how the stage was set up for the newest production. Most of the girls looked up to Marie even more than they had before. Before, she had been a flawless dancer, putting passion and emotion into a technically flawless performance. Now, she did the same without the ability to actually see where exactly everyone and everything was. Brigitte, however, could feel her manicured nails biting into the flesh of her palms as she watched Marie move gracefully around the stage.

_This isn't fair. I dance as well as she, and I can see. Why should an orphaned gypsy be placed higher than me? I have trained for years and years and she flounced in here and became the favorite. _

A dark shadow passed over Brigitte's eyes as she watched the young woman make her last circuit around the stage. She shook her head and dismissed the shadow as merely her anger at having been passed over for an orphan. _Perhaps there is a way I can get back at her…_

Mmlle Giry watched as her girls danced. _Funny how I think of them as girls when they are really young ladies. I wonder if Mother ever saw all of us as girls even after we were young women._ Few words escaped her as she watched them dance about the stage. She wished she could tell little Amelie to take smaller steps, but held back the urge. No one at the Opera Populaire wished to disturb their Diva when she was practicing, so Meg decided to talk to Amelie after their rehearsal.

Capucine's voice filled the empty Opera as the corps de ballet filled the stage with swirls of color and beauty. A sudden thud and a quiet yelp quickly ended the magic that a diva flanked by dancers could weave.

"For the love of God, which one of you little cows did that?" glowered Capucine. She had always wondered why she was forced to practice her art while the dancers practiced their gauche stage seductions.

Marie was quickly pulling herself to her feet, not sure what exactly had caused her to trip. "I…my apologies, Capucine. I did not mean to disturb your song."

Capucine rounded on her, eyes blazing fury at having been interrupted by a mere chorus girl, an easily over-looked ballerina. A muscle twitched in her cheek as anger rose in her chest. "Perhaps we should only let dancers who can see be on stage with me. What do you think of that, Maria?"

Easy strides brought Meg onto the stage. "Capucine, please calm yourself. It was not _Marie's_ fault that she fell. I believe Brigitte's clumsiness is what tripped her."

Brigitte's face went pink, then drained as she realized that Meg saw her. She did not realize that years of being a dancer herself and then time as the manager of the corps de ballet gave her a keen eye for what the feet of her girls were doing. "I am sorry, Marie. Though, if you moved in a more restrained manner, perhaps you would not have tripped."

Meg's gentle smile went stony as she looked at Brigitte. "Brigitte, there is nothing wrong with how Marie dances. She puts passion into what she does. You only focus on perfection while she dances with feeling. If you can not control your own feet, you can be replaced."

Brigitte nodded stiffly. The contrite look on Marie's face for having interrupted Capucine made hot coals of hate glow in Brigitte's face. _I will find a way to get back at her, I know I will._

As the rehearsal ended, Marie began to cautiously make her way to the back of the stage. Her hands unconsciously gripped her skirt tightly, wrinkling the delicate fabric. Seeing her chance, Brigitte walked up to Marie.

"Marie, I am sorry I was clumsy and tripped you. If you like, I can help you get around back here."

Marie nodded. "Oh, that would be wonderful. I hate it back here. I can hear the rats better than before, and I never got accustomed to moving around here. I fear I'll be lost."

Marie could not see how Brigitte's smile dripped poison and hatred as she took the other girl's hand. _I can't believe how she trusts me. Now to get her lost back here._

Nervous tension built up in Marie as the other woman led her through the passages and tunnels that comprised the underbelly and backside of the Opera. _This is taking so long. Shouldn't I be in a dressing room by now?_ While her mind ran full of nervous fantasies of being lost with the rats, Brigitte softly let go of her hand and began to make her way out of the basement. She watched with delight as Marie took a few steps, not yet realizing she was not being guided anywhere.

Marie's thoughts clouded her mind with a fog of nerves until her hand brushed a cold wall. She reached out to grip the warm hand of Brigitte and found nothing. Sharp fear pierced the haze of nervousness and she whimpered softly. She began to run, desperately searching for anyway out of the mazes beneath the Opera. Her feet moved of their own volition as she frantically scanned the areas around her for some sort of familiar shapes. The gray twilight of the Opera basements, however, made every figure blend into one flat gray-scape. Tears ran down her soft cheeks as she tried to frantically find her way back to the stage.

He was walking through the basements of his Opera house. His thoughts were often on his beautiful Christine. _If only she hadn't been so frightened of me. If she hadn't taken off the mask, she could've loved me. Why did that miserable little Vicomte have to ruin our happiness? Oh, my Christine, why did you run in fear when you saw me here last?_ His thoughts often strayed to the last time he had seen her. She had decided to come to the Opera with her new husband. Erik had promised himself he would let them live their lives happily, had given his word to them through the Persian that after the torments he had inflicted onto his beloved Christine, he would bother them no more. But, seeing her had ruined his lofty ideals. While she was walking her old paths around the Opera, he caught sight of her angelic form. He wanted only to gaze upon her, that was all, but she had seen him. A soft mist formed over his eyes as he remembered the look of horror when she spotted him skulking in the shadows. She had run away, crying out for her Raoul and he had never seen her again. _Am I so terrible as to frighten away the woman I loved by only wanting to be near once more?_

For once, he was walking without paying much attention to his surroundings. His feet knew every inch of the Opera. No trapped door or concealed tunnel was a secret from him, its primary designer. Melancholy wrapped around him like a second cloak as he continued his solitary walk through the basements. His thoughts strayed to why God was still seeing fit to punish him after the only bright spot in his solitary life was whisked away so cruelly. As the soft body collided into him, he let out a little grunt, his eyes filling with the fires of his rage as he glared down at his chest.

Marie quickly backed a step away, lowering her head in apology. "I'm so sorry. I did not mean to run into you."

Erik blinked once, unsure of what to do. When the young women of the Opera had even the slightest suspicion that he was near, they would run and hide crossing themselves to ward off his demoniac form. "It's all right, young lady, I was not paying attention."

The sensual waves of his voice broke over her as her head snapped up. She delicately adjusted her head so that it would appear as if she was looking at him. "Thank you for your forgiveness, Monsieur. I do not mean to ask silly questions, but, am I to stage level yet?"

Realization dawned in Erik's head. The girl could not see him. She had no idea she was in the depths of the Opera basements, nor that she was looking at the spectre that had haunted the minds of ballerinas and divas alike for years. "No, Mademoiselle, I am afraid you are not. I will lead you back to where you wish to be, though."

"You are too kind, Monsieur…"

"Monsieur Angelline. What shall I call you, my dear girl?"

"I am Mademoiselle St. Clair, one of the ballet girls."

He took one of her delicate hands in his and began to lead her upstairs. She could feel something tighten in his grip and wondered at it. _Why would he be so tense? Is he angry still that I ran into him?_

As Erik looked the girl over, he felt something inside him tighten into anger. The silky hair, like a raven's wing and the warm chocolate eyes belied her gypsy heritage. Her skin was lighter than that of her people's. _She would've been a perfect street dancer, why is she a ballerina. She should be stealing money and dancing like a whore on the street. What is she doing in my Opera house?_ Memories of gypsy camps began to slowly swirl in his mind. He remembered the cruel taunts of the gypsy women who reviled and feared him. When he heard her cry out in pain, he finally realized he had been squeezing the girl's hand far too hard.

As her rescuer led her up to the lights of the stage, Marie's nervousness melted away. She looked in the direction of his face and was surprised to see no form there. Startled by the sudden disappearance, Marie walked back onto the stage and began to cautiously make her way back to her rooms.

Moving with catlike grace, Erik began to make his way back towards his palace by the lake. He sighed softly, wondering if perhaps watching the little gypsy wench dance would give him some sort of inspiration for his music. As he began his stroll home, his sharp ears picked up on a very soft sound. The gypsy girl was humming softly. He stopped and stared from his shadowy hide away as the angelic sound escaping her throat caressed his ears. A violent shake of his head dismissed the thoughts he was having. _Gypsies have no place here, not after what her kind did to me. How dare she come down into my domain and haunt me, tempt me, with her vile ways?_ He moved with a predator's deadly grace as his footfalls brought him deeper and deeper until he reached his home.

_I will have to find a way to deal with this…this vile woman. _


	3. History repeats

The trapped doors around the Opera creaked their annoyance at being used once again with frequency as their master stalked about the stage area for the first time in years. He was watching her again, the little gypsy. Her body moved with a passion he had never seen in a dancer before. Most of the girls moved shyly, demurely, even when dancing. Marie moved with grace and poise, but also with a sense of passionate abandon. _It's like the music flows into her and through her._ With a shake of his head, he angrily dismissed the thought, growling in his throat softly. _Little gypsy witch, she must be casting a spell on me._

As the last rehearsal for the performance drew to a close, Marie found herself softly singing a few of the arias. She tried to avoid any shapes near her; for fear that Capucine would hear and berate her for butchering the true art of song. A nervous smile danced across her face as she realized this would be the first time she would perform for an audience after losing her sight.

Erik paced the lower basements through the afternoon. The slender body of the gypsy woman had entranced him past the point of concentration on anything else. _Perhaps I should speak to her again, let her know that she is not wanted here._ _Perhaps I could cause an accident that would mar the performance and be blamed on her. Yes, that would be perfect._ Soft footfalls entering the upper parts of his true domain caused his head to snap to attention and his body to blend into the shadows.

"Erik? Are you here? It is Meg."

A soft breath he did not realize he had been holding released itself as he saw it was only Meg. Meg looked fearlessly into his masked face, seeing the rage that had built up.

"Erik, why are you so enraged? Has something happened to upset you?" When she saw that he was waiting to see what she wanted, she continued on slowly. "I have a favor to ask of you. There is a girl I want you to coach. Her name is Marie and I think she could benefit from a voice coach such as you."

Erik made the noise that passed for a laugh, a rough noise that came from deep in his throat. "You are still little Meg Giry, aren't you? Why would I put myself through such torment yet again? Because you ask a favor of me?"

Meg smiled softly. "My dear Erik, I passed up a life of nobility because of my love for theatre and this Opera house. I have cared for you and been your liaison with the management since Mother retired. All I ask is that you help out a young girl who desperately needs it. And, she can not see, so I doubt she will cause you much torment."

Meg saw the uncovered half of his face furrow in concentration. A silent prayer formed in her head, hoping that she had found a way to both help her little Marie and to ease Erik's suffering.

"Only because it is you asking, dear Meg, will I agree to coach this…gypsy dancing girl. I will visit her tomorrow night and begin our lessons."

Meg headed back up to stage level, wondering at the hard look in Erik's eyes. A small shiver traveled up her spine as she realized he had looked almost predatory when he referred to Marie as a "gypsy dancing girl." _I do hope my little Marie will be safe with him. _

The room was lit by the flickering of gas lamps and candles as Marie changed out of her costume. She squinted tightly, peering into the mirror, hoping that she could make out some feature on herself. A gray shape was all that reflected back. A sigh escaped her as she finished pulling the last laces of her dress tight. _At least they gave me my own room._ She sank onto the bed, sighing softly, wondering if she even wanted to make the gray, lonely trek to where the other girls were eating. A soft stab of loneliness pierced her heart as she thought fondly back to eating in the dining area with all the other ballerinas, showing off the new trinket they or some admirer had bought them. A sharp knock at the door drew her attention away from fond memories of friends she could actually see, who didn't speak about her with tones of hushed pity.

"I'll be along in a minute!" she called out, assuming it was one of the other young women come to remind her to get dinner.

To her surprise, the door opened and she heard sure, even footfalls approaching her. She stood, angling head up to where she knew most people's faces were, a trick she had learned to help hide the fact she could not see what they looked like. "Excuse me, but, this is a private room."

"I have been asked by your mentor, Mmlle Giry, to give you voice lessons. If, however, you are too rude to accept them, then I can leave you." That voice washed over her, and she recognized it as having belonged to the man who rescued her from the basements.

"Oh, pardon me, Monsieur Angelline. I…I did not see it was you. I did not realize that Mademoiselle Giry had arranged for me to have a tutor."

"Well, I suppose you can be forgiven this once, girl. You are, indeed, Marie, the blind girl?"

She nodded shyly, not liking to be reminded of her handicap.

By the end of their lesson, Marie had tears running down her fine-boned cheeks. "I am sorry, Monsieur, I am trying, but I did not know what you meant when you…"

"You stupid little gypsy, how can you live in an Opera house and not know the proper pronunciation of an Italian word?"

She stammered out an answer, her lips moving without her brain helping them as she trembled in fear before her harsh instructor. She heard him leave without a goodbye as she sunk to her bed, sobbing softly. As she dried her eyes, she began to sing a song in the tongue of her mother's people to comfort her. She stood by her mirror, her sobs becoming quieter as the music comforted her.

He had only meant to watch her, to gloat over the pain he had caused her. He wanted her to feel the pain and humiliation her kind had visited upon him once, long ago. He ached to make her pay for living in his beloved's former quarters. What he had not meant was to be come enraptured by her voice. While the Italian and German words of some of the more famous opera pieces fell out of her mouth oddly, the flowing language of the gypsies poured out of her like waves of delicate silk. Something inside his chest quivered softly as he realized he had been the cause of this beauty's pain. Gloved fingertips pressed against his side of the mirror, aching to wipe the tears away from her face. He froze as she put her forehead against the mirror and began to speak.

"Why does he hate me so? I could barely sing with that feeling penetrating the room. Meg said he was a hard teacher, but…" her voice trailed off as she shook her head sadly and went behind her changing screen. The taunt of "gypsy" stung her to the heart, remembering how the others at the Opera had reacted to Meg bringing her here. The managers had scoffed at the idea of a gypsy dancing for their audiences. Only when they saw her did they change her mind. She did not have the deep brown skin of most of the gypsies, but instead, a much lighter skin tone, almost the color of native French people.

As her head nuzzled into the pillow, she tried to remember her family. Her mother had given birth to her after she had spent a week in Marseille, apparently after having met a lovely Frenchman. Marie bore the marks of her mixed heritage well, however, bringing the best of both cultures into her looks. _Why must everyone taunt me so? Is it not bad enough that I have no family?_

Erik slunk down the hall behind her mirror, silently cursing himself for the soft feeling growing inside him. "No! I will not be hurt or made a fool of by some silly woman again! Especially not one like her!"

As his footfalls brought him to closer to the boat, an idea was already half formed in his head. He would play at this enticing young woman's game, but this time, he would not be the loser. He would be the one to cause the heartache, the sorrow, the sharp stabbing pains that kept her up at night, the dull aches that never ceased during the day. Someone would know how he felt, and he would be the cause of it. His mouth formed a small half-curve as he savored the thought of finally having revenge for all the pain he had gone through. He turned with slow deliberation and made his way back to the mirror.

As his voice echoed down the secret halls of the Opera, Marie laid her head on her pillow and the sound of her tears lulled her to sleep. Her dreams brought her the sounds of heaven being sung down to her. She dreamt of a voice that called her name while she played between camped wagons and chased the mongrel dogs that followed the troupe she had lived with. That voice chased away the fires that the townspeople had set, scattering or killing her family and sending her fleeing into the city of Paris by herself.

For once, she dreamt of her family and did not wake in a cold sweat, crying out for her mother. Instead of whimpers, only the word "Angelline" escaped her soft red lips as she slumbered peacefully for the first time in weeks.


End file.
